A gust of icy wind blew, loosening her hair so that it whipped her face. Below them the roar of the water blended with the sound of the wind and the rustling trees, producing a symphony only Mother Nature could create.

Delia shivered, but it was more from a heightened sense of awareness than the actual cold. Still, she was grateful for the sun beaming down on them, weak as it was.

After a long moment, Cade nudged his horse closer, then closer still, and her breath caught in a vexing sort of anticipation, because no matter how she tried to put it out of her mind that only this man could make her ache and burn, her body would never let her forget.

Only the knowledge that he could obviously turn the heat on and off, that he could plan on leaving and not worry about coming back, kept her cool.

Cade swung down from the saddle, murmured something to his horse and came closer still.

“You look at home,” he said.

She shrugged, having finally found her mental distance. “Tell that to Zoe, who thinks I’ll never give up my city ways.” Delia didn’t have to admit she still missed the city-the malls, the grumpy crowds, the restaurants. The culture. She missed it all, but much in the way one missed school once it was out. It was with a sort of fondness, not any real ache.

In spite of herself, this place was becoming home. Tilting her head back, she studied the sky. No smog. No planes. Just glorious brilliant blue sky.

“We need to leave in an hour,” he said.

“I’m packed and ready to go.” They’d go together, investigate the address he had. Then she’d see Jacob and come back to the ranch, to her home.

As for Cade, he’d be off. She had no idea when she’d see him again, but she considered that a good thing.

Their guests had gone, and when they’d left, they’d been full, content, happy and thrilled with their experience.

Delia was happy, too, and knowing she had until Thursday before the next group of guests arrived helped ease her guilt at leaving her sisters for a few days.

They didn’t need her, she reminded herself. They’d function fine without her. Fact was, neither Zoe nor Maddie resented her trip in the least, but she felt a moment of shame that she’d expected them, too.

They loved her, and even after twenty years, the knowledge still thrilled her. What didn’t thrill her was the thought of yet another trip with the tall enigmatic man in front of her. But she couldn’t let him go without her. She had too much at stake, not to mention years of curiosity and buried hurt.

“I know you’re packed,” he said quietly. “But are you really ready?”

“Does it matter?”

He stared at her a moment before turning his too-intense gaze to the river. The wind continued to tug at them, at her clothes and his, at the long-sleeved shirt he wore, molding it to his chest and back.

“It matters,” he said grimly. “You matter.”

“But you don’t want me to matter.”

“No more than you want me to matter to you.”

Well, he had her there.

“I know why I resist this…this thing between us,” she said. “But why do you? What’s haunting you, Cade?”

His jaw hardened. He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Nothing I’m willing to talk about.”

Fair enough, she supposed. And not for the first time, she realized it was almost comforting to know it would never go further than this, that sexual attraction was all they had. Lust could be ignored.

Their arms brushed lightly.

And she had to tell herself again that all they had was that lust, nothing more. But the truth was, his touch soothed her. His strength fed hers.

How could this happen when her own strength had always been enough?

“I don’t know what we’ll find,” he said. “But it might be rough on you-”

“I’m going.”

“Okay, but-”

“No. No buts.” She sighed, speaking her thoughts out loud, shocking herself with the weakness she couldn’t control. “Why do you think my mother didn’t want me?”

He looked at her with a mixture of surprise and a compassion far too close to pity. She turned away and added quickly, “I was a pretty good kid, I was…just wondering, and…”

“Delia-”

“No, I’m sorry.” She let out a laugh that sounded pathetically close to a sob. “It’s nothing.”

“God, Delia,” he murmured, turning her to face him. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“Forever,” she whispered. Then, “Look, forget it,” she said. “Please, just forget I said anything. I’ll meet you inside when you’re ready-”

He stopped her with a finger to her lips. “Your mother wasn’t good enough for you, not even close. No mother should be able to walk away from her child.”

Delia was a tall woman, but he was much taller, so that her gaze fell directly on his wide, generous mouth, his square jaw, which at this moment was hard with anger.

Anger for her, she realized with some surprise and an odd little shiver.

“I don’t know if your father knew who you were,” he said, his tone intense. “Or even if he was Constance’s son Ethan Freeman, but I swear we’ll find out. For once and for all, you’ll know your past. You won’t have to wonder anymore.”

It would be a double-edged sword, the knowing. Her past would no longer be a mystery. And if her father turned out to be the no-good drifter, liar, user, Ethan Freeman, then she would have gotten what she needed-the inheritance necessary to get Jacob.

She’d know her own gene pool-and the fact she’d come from two complete losers.

“Are you sure?” he whispered. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do.”

In Cade’s opinion, Los Angeles was a chameleon. Whatever one desired, it could be had, whether it was fun or serious, whether you were rich or poor.

A place to succeed or merely survive.

The heat was oppressive, unusually heavy and sticky. They drove to a seedy subdivision, long past its prime.

Delia looked shocked when he pulled up to a run-down apartment complex with neglected palm trees drooping in front of a wrought-iron gate half-fallen down.

“My mother lived here? Are you sure?”

“It’s her last known address, according to her D.M.V. records.” He hated knowing he was destroying whatever positive memories Delia had managed to retain, but to learn the truth about her father, it had to be done. “It’s been over twenty years. Things change.”

“Yes.”

She looked out of place as she got out of the car: tall, willowy, coolly beautiful. She wore a fitted sundress the color of a ripe peach, which looked elegant and sophisticated. Hard to imagine her fitting into this life, but Cade knew that was exactly what would have happened if her mother hadn’t taken her to the foster home.

She would have grown up here.

He wondered if Delia, staring at the building with an unreadable expression on her face, was thinking the same thing.

Then he remembered he wasn’t supposed to care what the hell she thought. “Come on,” he said gruffly, and led the way. “Let’s go get your answers.”

The main door was unlocked. They entered and moved down the hall. When they knocked on the door, a woman answered. Her clothes were rumpled, her hair disheveled. On her face was at least day-old makeup. That hard prematurely aged face twisted into a frown at the sight of them. “What do you want?” she asked.

“Dottie?” Cade gave her a smile.

“Yeah.” She looked him over. “So?”

“Cade McKnight. I spoke with you on the phone regarding Evelyn Scanlon.”

Dottie glanced at Delia, then did a comical double take. “Lord, girl, you look just like your momma.”

Delia didn’t so much as blink, not the cool unflappable Delia, but Cade knew that bit of news had rocked her to the core.

“It’s like going back in time,” Dottie said, awed, shaking her head. “Just like her.”

“Can we ask you some questions?”

Dottie’s gaze slid back to Cade. “You a cop?”